ASA: BLACK SKULLS MC

by Walker, Kylie

  “That you fucked her or that she’s a reporter?”

  “Either one asshole.”

  “No one,” Kyle said. “But you know that nothing stays a secret around here for long. They will find out soon enough. Do you want me to keep an eye on her while you’re gone?”

  Asa trusted Kyle with his life. They were tighter than brothers and unlike Rodney or Carl or most of the Black Skulls who believed that unless a member made a woman his old lady, anyone could fuck the girl but Kyle didn’t play by such declarative rules. If Asa had his eye on a chick, Kyle would not only refrain from hitting on her, he’d make sure no one else did either.

  “No, man,” Asa finally said. “If the Skulls see you with her or catch you swinging by Wanda’s and figure out who Samantha really is, then shit’s going to rain down hard on you and her both. She’ll be fine for a night.”

  Kyle gave him a friendly jab on the shoulder just as Jared Hurst and Strike joined them.

  Jared asked, “So what’s up? We heading out or what?”

  After shooting Kyle a farewell nod, Asa left his best friend to get Jared and Strike up to speed, as he cut through the crowded bar, dirty rock music pounding through the air, and whipped the exit door open. The lights from the bar spilled out into the dusty parking lot and mingled with the dim, red lights of Boone & Boone Garage across the way, though the shop was long since locked up for the night. There was a slight breeze and though the stifling temperature had cooled a touch since the simmering afternoon, Asa didn’t feel very relief as he walked towards his Harley that was parked in the shadows at the end of a long line of bikes. As he neared it, he saw the silhouette of a woman standing next to his Harley. It wasn’t until she spoke that Asa knew exactly who she was.

  “Remember how I wanted us to talk so that I could get to know you?”

  “You heard a few stories?” he guessed.

  Samantha sunk into her hip, accentuating the delicious curves of her body that Asa wouldn’t mind licking up and down right about then. Samantha rested her fingers on the leather seat of his bike and tipped her head back to look up at him. “If what I heard is true... then...”

  “Then what?” he said in a smooth, deep tone, as he stepped in so close to her that he could feel the heat pouring off her petite body.

  “Then,” she echoed softly, “I’m pretty damned lucky all you did was give me a good fucking to try and scare me away.”

  Chapter Seven

  Samantha held her tongue when a drunken girl stumbled out of the bar, laughing and clinging to a burly looking biker. As she waited for the sexed-up couple to find the right Hog amidst the line of motorcycles, she watched them climb on, and growl off into the night and then turned to steal a glimpse of Asa lighting a cigarette. She had come to associate that action with both anticipating the hottest sex of her life and having just come off of an orgasm—Asa had smoked in the shadows as she’d stripped down for him, and he’d also lit up after having fucked her earlier that day. As if in Pavlovian response, she only had to hear the crackle of him taking a drag to get hot, wet, and tingly between the legs.

  The sound of that couple’s Harley faded so she asked, “Is it true?”

  “Is what true?” he said in an unaffected tone as he neared his bike.

  She was almost afraid to ask, but she had to know. Wanda had scared her with stories of Asa Boone's brutality. If it was true, then it meant that Asa and all of the Black Skulls were far too capable of murder to be let off the hook for Johnny Fox’s.

  “You learned to kill before you learned to ride?” she asked in a breathy whisper, relaying what the motor inn owner, Wanda had told her.

  “I thought you knew that,” he said so easily that she wondered if perhaps she really was naive.

  Did she know that?

  After considering the possibility she decided that in fact, it had occurred to her, but only in an abstract sense. Yes, some MC’s were dangerous. The Black Skulls had quite a reputation, but in large part, Samantha had been functioning under the assumption that the bikers wanted everyone to think they were capable of killing, which didn’t necessarily mean that they had killed. It wasn’t until Johnny Fox turned up dead that Samantha had begun to actually analyze the Black Skulls’ culpability. And yet as tough as Asa came off, it honestly hadn’t dawned on her that he might have done it until Wanda had told her a disturbing tale.

  “Look,” Asa said, his deep tone cutting through her worried contemplation. “I’m not interested in having the same argument with you. The Black Skulls aren’t behind Johnny’s death. And you shouldn’t be here.”

  “Wanda said you once beat a man to death in the desert. You were young. Eighteen.” He snorted a laugh then sucked on his cigarette as though she was as silly as a child.

  “It isn’t true?” she asked in a hopeful tone.

  “Wanda’s a gossip and her tune changes depending on whether she’s going through a good stretch with Jim Joseph or a bad one. They’re volatile lovers. Now, I have to get going.”

  Samantha wasn’t quite done yet and without thinking about the immediate consequences she hopped on his Harley, swinging her leg over and gripping the handlebars. “What’s the MC’s real business?” she asked, seemingly jumping topics, but knowing full well she would circle back to the point at hand. “Laundering? What do you launder? Guns? Or is it drug trafficking?” she asked without giving him much of a chance to respond. “Human trafficking?”

  “Stop,” he ordered, though he was clearly amused. She liked the easy grin on his face and he only got better looking with each bad boy drag of his cigarette, the entire display unfolding under a full moon. He took hold of the handlebar closest to him and their fingers touched. “The Black Skulls have two businesses and they’re legit-”

  “The auto shop and the bar,” she supplied as if entirely unconvinced. “People didn’t like Fox,” she went on, reminding him of his own admission. “But he was too high up the food chain for anyone in the gang-”

  “Club-”

  “To do anything about it.”

  “I have an idea, sweetheart. Why don’t you ask your questions around the bar over there and see how far you get?”

  “I don’t think the police are going to have an easy time figuring out who called Fox that night. I think your president made sure of that.”

  “Oh, you think my dad ordered some kind of hit?”

  “Did he?”

  “If he did, then he wouldn’t be sending me off to the Blue Spades tonight to get them to admit they did it.”

  She was suddenly speechless, staring up at him.

  “So you guys really didn’t do it,” she murmured. It was as though the possibility refused to sink in. But why? After a moment she realized it was because she liked pursuing Asa with questions and if some other gang was responsible, she wouldn’t be able to get away with sniffing around a man who happened to have a knack for making her weak at the knees.

  Leaning into her ear, his strong hand braced the leather seat snugly behind her ass, the other wrapped around hers on the handlebar and he whispered, “If you want me to fuck you again, just say so.” She feigned a little laugh as though it might help her keep her cool, but she was beginning to understand that when it came to Asa, there was no keeping her cool. She was hot and heavy for him no matter what.

  “Is that why you think I’m here?” she weakly challenged.

  “Without a doubt.”

  “And what about you?” she retorted.

  He cocked his head so he could look at her. “What about me?”

  “You haven’t run me out of town,” she pointed out then added with a little glance down at the Harley, “you haven’t thrown me off your bike.”

  “Ah,” he groaned, knowingly. “I see what’s going on here.”

  “What?”

  “You’re addicted.”

  Screwing her face up, she asked, “To what?”

  He held her gaze and as she mel
ted, growing hot and wet between the legs just looking at his sexy face, she realized he was right. She wanted him. The high he had given her was fading and she needed another hit. But just because he was correct didn’t mean she was obligated to admit as much.

  Just as she was about to object and firmly maintain her journalistic duties to the Las Vegas Post, Asa sat behind her on the motorcycle, wrapping his strong arms around her waist and holding her tightly against the hard wall of his chest and abs.

  “If I give you what you want,” he whispered in her ear, his warm hands slipping under the hem of her tee shirt and stroking up her taut stomach, higher and higher until he cupped her tits from where they sat elevated in a pink push-up bra. “Will you go back to your motel room like a good little girl?”

  She did what she could to keep her uncontrollable moaning soft—it was as though her body was responding without her permission. She exhaled the breath she was holding and asked, “What is it you think I want?”

  In answer to her question, Asa leaned back ever so slightly, helping Samantha to give him her weight, which created just enough room for him to work his right hand down the front of her jean shorts, flick his strong fingers under her panties, and find her sensitive pussy.

  “Oh,” she breathed, completely letting go and surrendering to the sweet feel of his penetrating fingers, as she straddled his Harley and relished the fact that he was about to give it to her good.

  “Is this what you want?” he breathed in her ear.

  “Yes,” she whispered, her head now resting on his shoulder.

  As he continued to fondle her pussy, two fingers smoothly wriggling inside, the heel of his hand massaging her swollen clit and he growled deeply, “Are you my little skull fucker?”

  Again, she breathed, “Yes,” as the first clench of a swiftly mounting orgasm seized her. “Oh fuck!”

  “Come all over my fingers,” he groaned in her ear, his breath cool against her cheek, which he kissed, causing her heart to melt. “I want to feel you drip down my hand.”

  “God, Asa,” she moaned, savoring every inch of his firm fingers massaging her deep inside.

  “God, I want your cock.”

  “I’m not giving you my cock,” he said sternly. “Come on my hand.”

  “Asa, please,” she begged, on the brink of climax but craving his hard dick so badly that her pussy ached for him to fill her. “Please.”

  Without warning, his other hand left her tit and was wrapped around her throat. She gasped and as terror flooded her veins, her pussy began expanding and contracting in the throes of a powerful orgasm.

  “Jesus!” she sighed, going with the tremendous flow of her climax.

  He felt it on his hand but he could hear it in her voice that she had done as she was told. His deep, breathy laugh filled her ears, as her body calmed. He didn’t remove his hand from her throat when he said, “You like it rough, don’t you? It isn’t until I get mean,” he added, giving her neck a little squeeze, “that you get off.”

  “Take me with you,” she said impulsively. His soft laughter stopped.

  “You want to come to the Blue Spades’ clubhouse?”

  “Asa,” she said, turning to face him on the Harley. “I just want to come.”

  With that, she planted a kiss on his mouth and let the double entendre wash over him. It wasn’t a lie. Samantha Wilde wanted to come with Asa as many times as possible. And she wanted him to come as well.

  Chapter Eight

  The night air felt like a warm bath on his skin, as he pushed seventy miles per hour, on the Harley up Route 15 with Samantha behind him. Her delicate arms wrapped around his torso as she held on tight. The highway cut northeast around Las Vegas and in no time they would arrive at Dry Lake, home of the Blue Spades MC. Asa didn’t make impulsive moves. Bringing Samantha with him tonight was just that and as he drove he had time to think about it. Those pain in the ass feelings were wreaking havoc on his head. If he was Samantha’s addiction then she was his weakness. But even faced with the reality that he had given into her so easily tonight, he still wasn’t ready to admit all of that to himself just yet.

  In fact, as Samantha had rubbed her body against the length of him while sitting on his Harley and luring him with promises of blow jobs and sex in strange places in attempts to convince him she ought to come along on his little excursion, Asa had been dangerously open-minded and ultimately told himself that showing up at the Blue Spades’ clubhouse with a chick could work in his favor.

  The whole point of him going alone—without Jared and Strike—was to show the rival MC that he wasn’t looking for a fight. What better way to prove he was interested in a chill conversation than to parade Samantha around? Bikers don’t put their old ladies in harm’s way.

  This could work.

  It could also blow up in his face.

  He wasn’t an idiot. Samantha might be all about spreading her legs for him, but it didn’t mean she had abandoned her goals of digging up a story around Johnny Fox. She would have to keep her mouth shut about being a reporter, period. Yes, she had agreed to as much before he let her on his Hog, but Asa didn’t trust her, not entirely. And that was his dilemma, the internal conflict that had been eating him alive ever since he had shown up at her motel room to have his way with her. He didn’t want her to leave Death Falls. He didn’t want to have to say goodbye, not when things were just beginning to get interesting. And at the same time, if she learned the truth about what happened ten years ago out in the desert... Asa pushed the thought from his mind, focusing instead on the road sign they were cruising towards which noted that Dry Lake was less than a mile ahead at the next exit.

  He downshifted, moving into the right lane, and snuck a glance at the grand sky overhead. The stars were bright and endless. In that moment just before veering off the highway, he felt Samantha squeeze him from behind. Perhaps she had noticed the amazing night sky as well. There was something truly great about having her here. But deep down he was also on edge so he was trying hard to think of her as nothing more than a fuck toy to bide his free time with, one he would soon discard like all the others that had come before.

  Control is often found in the lies that we tell ourselves...

  The road went from asphalt to dirt roughly a half of a mile from the highway. Asa put his Harley in low gear and his gaze locked on the glow of lights up ahead—the Blue Spades clubhouse.

  Back in the day, the Blue Spades’ president had been notorious for sanctioning hits on anyone and everyone who questioned him, much less crossed him. Luke Olson didn’t discriminate who he killed and when several of his own men went missing, no one doubted he was responsible. But after a heart attack five years ago that resulted in immediate surgery, Luke's attitude, his entire demeanor, in fact, had transformed. He wasn’t just brutal anymore. He was a downright maniac who functioned so erratically that at times the members of his MC seriously wondered if perhaps he had a death wish. But it was quite the opposite. Luke wasn’t welcoming death. He was defying it.

  “You’ll go by Sam in there,” Asa informed her, as he stepped off his parked Harley in front of Blood Brothers, the MC’s clubhouse bar. “Don’t use your full name. No one can know what you really do for a living. It’s for your own safety.”

  “Got it,” she said in that soft, sexy voice of hers that reminded Asa of grazing his cock along her inner thigh and making her moan for him. Keep your eye on the ball, even if watching Samantha slide off his Hog with those Perky little curves of hers swelling in the effort was an instant distraction.

  Tilting her head, she shot him a smooth smile and said, “I’ll be your girlfriend in there, and nothing more.”

  “Why don’t we stick with calling it what it is? You’re a skull fucker.”

  She slumped a bit and rolled her eyes as if he was the immature one, not her. He grabbed her tight, round ass, pulled her against him and reminded her, “I make the rules. You follow them.” She widened her s
tance and her bare thighs pressed against his weathered jeans. Her shorts looked so tiny and her ass felt great in his large hands. The way she arched her back in order to look up at him had his cock stiffening in his pants.

  Shit, it’s not like he had time to fuck her before finding Luke Olson...

  And he shouldn’t let his guard down, not with this figurative target on his back. Everyone inside Blood Brothers would be wearing the Blue Spades kutte, the insignia of which looked quite literal. The second anyone realized Asa was a Black Skull, as evidenced by his own leather kutte, the skull it boasted, things could get aggressive. Samantha must have noticed his sudden change in mood because she asked him, “Are you worried?”

  He snapped back into himself, gave her sweet little ass another squeeze until she gasped and then hooked his arm around her shoulder. He steered her toward the bar’s entrance door loving the way she was entwining her fingers under the hem of his wife-beater. It was crowded inside the dimly lit, oblong bar where bikers had clustered along the actual bar to the right. Straight ahead were three pool tables, all claimed, and then a thick wall of bikers facing the very back.

  The music was deafening — heavy metal — and Asa listened for a beat, and realized it was live. The band itself playing from the very back of the bar where the Blue Spades had packed in to get as close as possible. The vibe of the place was not at all laid back like at the Black Skulls’ clubhouse and he could feel the way Samantha tensed underneath his arm.

  “Let’s get you a drink!” He yelled over the screeching sounds of heavy metal.

  She tried feigning a smile but Asa thought she just looked terrified.

  “You’re fine,” he assured her. “You’re with me.”

  They worked their way through the crowd, which appeared to be two-thirds biker chick, lucky for the Blue Spades, thought Asa. It was also lucky for him. It meant that Blood Brothers was a place to hook up and screw, and not a bare-knuckle-fight bar, or so he hoped.

  “You like beer, right?” he asked, leaning into her ear. The biker beside him was weaving on his feet and had bumped into him more than once.